by Laura Landon
Duncan nodded, then led Katherine to the other side of the table. Callum took his place at Duncan’s left, and Geordie opposite him on Malcolm’s right. Two serving girls quickly brought over trenchers with food and a pitcher of ale to fill their laird and their mistress’s goblets. The girl with the ale wasn’t fast enough to escape Geordie’s reach before he grabbed her to refill his empty tankard. She gave Duncan an apologetic look and hurried from the room.
Duncan filled his platter and Katherine put but a small portion on hers. While her husband chewed his food as if he enjoyed every bite, Katherine could do no more than shove the roasted fowl and vegetables around on her platter. The air literally sparked with tension. Soon the McGowans would state their purpose for coming, and Duncan would state the reason they could not have the crown.
Or, he would simply tell them Katherine had it and leave them alone with her to see if they could force her to tell them where it was hidden.
Or, he could refuse to discuss the matter and before the tables were cleared, the floor would be littered with dead bodies. Duncan’s could be one of them.
A cold sweat covered her body and a chill ran up and down her spine. Whatever happened would be her fault. She gripped the handle of her two-pronged fork and prepared for the worst.
“You’d best eat, lass,” Duncan said between mouthfuls of food. He spoke in English so neither of the McGowans understood him.
Katherine jabbed a small piece of carrot, then lifted her fork to her mouth. “It’s difficult to eat when one is in the company of such an arrogant ass,” she answered, keeping her voice sweet as honey. Duncan’s hand halted in mid air as he reached for a piece of dried fruit on a platter in front of him. Malcolm seemed to have swallowed his ale wrong for he coughed most profusely.
She caught the hard look on Geordie’s face, as if to even hear English spoken offended his Scottish pride. She quickly lowered her gaze, thankful that Callum pulled his brother’s attention to more important matters.
“It’s best to get to the reason we’re here, Duncan. We’ve come for the crown.”
Duncan did not lift his head, but stabbed another piece of the roasted fowl and chewed. “You canna have it,” he announced, tearing a hunk from the loaf of warm bread and spreading it with honey.
Geordie slid back in his chair and reached for his sword, but Callum held out his hand to stop him. The hateful look on Geordie’s face was enough to commit murder. “It was McGowan Scots that died taking the crown,” Geordie roared, shoving Callum’s hand away. “The crown belongs to us. We demand you give it back.”
Slowly, deliberately, Duncan laid down his fork and fisted his hands on either side of his trencher. He lifted his gaze and leveled each brother with a determined look that broached no compromise. His voice when he spoke, emitted a challenge that left no room for doubt. “It was some verra foolish McGowan Scots that took the Bishop’s Crown. Not only did they lose their own lives taking it, but their stupidity caused many more innocent Scots to die for a worthless cause.”
“How dare you—”
Geordie had his sword only half out of the sheath when Duncan whipped his broadsword from behind his back and slammed it onto the table. The edge of the sword made a deep cut in the wood while the tip of the metal missed striking Geordie by mere inches.
“Enough!”
Geordie froze. Duncan rose to his feet and glared at the young Scot. His towering height dominated the room. He braced his hands on either side of his trencher and faced the McGowans. “When your brave McGowan lads stole the crown from the English, where did they take it for safe keeping? Home? To Fenbyre Castle? Nay! They brought it here. They brought it to Lochmore for my father to protect. For my father to take the risk.”
Katherine felt the turbulence in Duncan’s body that teetered on the verge of erupting. She could see raw anger in every movement, hear it in every word. Never had she experienced such controlled violence, such restrained intensity as she heard in the quiet fury of his voice.
“My father, and my mother, and my sisters, Meara and Elissa, died because of what McGowan Scots did. When you give my family back to me, alive and unharmed, I will give you back the crown.”
The great hall bristled with anger charged enough to light a fire. Katherine waited. Every warrior stood with his hand on his sword, ready to draw blood at the first sign from their laird. Her heart pounded in her breast as she watched to see how many deaths would be caused because of her vow to God.
“The crown is ours,” Geordie hissed, the tone of his voice bitter.
“Quiet, Geordie,” Callum whispered, then slowly raised his hand in a yielding motion. One by one the McGowan warriors relaxed their stance. “You are right, Duncan. You have forfeited more. The crown is yours by right.”
Geordie slammed down his tankard of ale, and shoved his chair away from the table. He gave Duncan a hostile glance, then glared at Katherine with a look equally as hateful. Without another word, he stormed from the room, taking a half dozen McGowan warriors with him.
Katherine watched him leave and felt a relief that was indescribable. Her heart raced as if she’d just been given a reprieve from realizing her greatest fear. And yet, she knew the McGowans were but the first to come after the crown. They were but the first to threaten Duncan.
Callum rose and held his hand out in offering. “We will meet you in two days’ time, Duncan. You can count on the McGowans to help you get your sister back.”
Duncan took Callum’s hand, and clasped his forearm. “You are welcome to stay the night and partake of our food in the morning before you leave.”
“Nay. I think it’s best if there is some distance between Geordie and Lochmore Castle. He’s more than set on having the crown. He has too much of our father’s temper to see things in the right light.”
Duncan nodded. “You will make a fine laird when the time comes, Callum. Scotland will be the stronger for it.”
Callum McGowan turned to Katherine. “You have a fine wife, Duncan. I do na ken the reason you chose an English, but whatever it is, I hope it’s worth the price you will be forced to pay. There are many like Geordie who are too filled with prejudice and hatred. They will never search for a way to bond the two countries in peace.”
Callum bowed with respect, then left the great hall. The remaining McGowan warriors followed behind him.
“Do you want someone to follow them, Duncan?” Malcolm asked after the last McGowan had left.
“Have Balfour see that they make it past the curtain, then secure the gates and double the watch. Callum can be trusted. If he has any say, they will na come back tonight.”
Malcolm gave a sign to the Ferguson warrior sitting beside him, and Balfour quickly left the room. Duncan reached over and filled his tankard with ale, then poured an equal amount in hers. In no time, the room was bustling with talk of the near skirmish with the McGowans and the excitement of going to fight the English in two days’ time.
“Are you all right, Kate?”
She was trembling inside. No, she was not all right. Did Duncan realize what had almost happened? Did he know how close he’d almost come to losing his life? Over a crown he did not have — and a wife he did not want.
She had to get the crown and get it to her father in England. Duncan might not escape so easily the next time someone came for it. She might not escape either if Geordie found out she was hiding it. She wondered how much Duncan would care if she didn’t.
She could not forget the words she’d heard Regan say this afternoon, and the boastful tone of her voice. I should be the one to have your name and share your bed and bear your children. I am the one you love, na her.
Katherine glanced at her husband. She thought he had not been able to come to her just because she was English. Now she feared that was not the only reason. Why hadn’t she realized he loved someone else? Making her his wife betrayed the woman he really loved.
She could not forget the disdainful looks she’d lived with for the p
ast two weeks. Everyone knew their laird loved another — except her.
“Are you ill, Kate?”
Katherine lifted her cup of ale to her mouth and drank. “I am fine.” She picked up her fork and shoved a tiny carrot around on her platter. There was a tightness in her throat that would not leave, a void that nothing could fill.
Duncan placed his hand over her fist, and Katherine jerked it back. Heaven help her. She could not allow herself to care for this man. She would not let him pretend he cared for her either. He had not married her because he wanted her, but because she had the crown. He had sacrificed his happiness to get it. Before it was over, he would more than likely have to sacrifice his life, too.
Duncan draped his arm across the back of her chair, and leaned closer. “Not all Scots are like Geordie, Kate.”
Her flesh warmed like she’d suddenly come too close to the sun. She didn’t want his nearness to effect her like it did. “Aren’t they? Listen to your men, Duncan.”
Duncan looked away from her, and focused on the conversations of the Ferguson warriors sitting at the tables. There was hardly another topic being discussed than the upcoming battle with Bolton and the English. “There is little difference, Duncan. They are all anxious to fight the English.”
“The men are anxious to have Brenna back with us.”
Katherine nodded. She didn’t want to think of the Ferguson’s hatred for the English any longer. She didn’t want to think of the lass called Regan. “How long will you be gone?”
“I would think a week. Mayhaps a day or two longer. Is that why you are na eating? You are worried?”
He leaned back in his chair and smiled. Sweet Mary, she was drawn to him. A warm rush swirled deep in her stomach and her breath caught in her throat. How she ached to have him hold her. She’d never felt as safe as when she was at his side. Even when Geordie had reached for his sword she had not been afraid. Not for herself.
“What upsets me, husband, is that you have brought me where I am not wanted, and might not stay alive long enough to care for me.”
“You fear for my life?”
She did, but she would never let him know it. “No, husband. I fear for my future.”
The smile left his face and Katherine waited to see his anger. There was none. A strange, unreadable expression covered his face while his eyes filled with a haunted yearning. That look was even more disturbing. “I will see what I can do to care for your future, wife.” He lifted his cup of ale and drank.
Katherine shoved aside the concern that he would leave in two days’ time and might not come back to her alive. Deep down, she wanted his vow that he would come back to her alive. “When you return, I expect to see you sitting atop your horse, leading your men,” she said, meeting a look that sent warm shivers all through her body.
“Is that an order, wife, or merely a request?”
She tried to turn away from him, but could not. The intensity of his gaze would not release her. “It is an order, husband. I will not allow you to die and leave me a widow before I have been married a full month.”
His lips lifted to form a warm smile, and the riveting of his gaze held her captive with a thousand licking flames of fire. “Malcolm,” he said without turning away from her. “You had best guard my back well from the English, or my wife will na be so understanding when we return. She is na partial to becoming a widow just yet.”
Katherine bit her lip. She could not allow herself to be so affected by nothing more than a look, or a few soft words and his unsettling nearness.
“I swear, milady,” Malcolm said from across the table, “that I will guard your husband’s life with my own and when we return he will be sitting atop his horse, leading his men.”
Katherine bit her lip harder.
“See, Kate. You have nothing to fear.”
She had to leave. She had to put some distance between herself and her husband. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words would come. She swallowed to find her voice. “I will endeavor to adopt your unwavering optimism, my lord, whether founded or not.” Katherine clenched her hands at her sides and stood. Her legs were strangely weak. Her insides moving uncomfortably. “If you will excuse me, I am finished and will go to my chamber now.”
“No. You will stay here with me.” Duncan’s harsh command echoed in the large room.
Katherine stopped with a jerk and twisted around to look at her husband. A deep frown covered his forehead and his eyes seemed darker than usual.
“You will na hide in your chamber again, milady.”
“Hide?”
“Was that na what you were doing when the McGowans came? Hiding in your chamber because you did na want to be with us?” He stood beside her and lifted her chin with his finger. “Or perhaps it’s only your husband you do na want to be near?”
Katherine narrowed her gaze. She glared at him with as harsh a look as she could make. How dare he! “You are the one, my lord, who has made clear the conditions concerning our marriage and the role I am to play as your wife. I am but submitting to the rules you have set down.”
“And what rules are those?”
Katherine kept her voice so low, even Malcolm could not hear her words. “For two weeks, you have not been able to bring yourself to be a husband to your English wife.” She held up her hands in surrender. “I yield to your choice. Now, I will not allow it.”
Katherine stared at the startled expression on Duncan’s face until his gaze turned to cold, hard fury. Even she, who feared his temper less than most of the men who’d lived their whole lives with him, was not brave enough to face his anger.
She turned, then walked amid the long rows of trestle tables, keeping her shoulders back and her head high. She made her way out of the great hall, blinking back the damnable wetness that clouded her vision.
She would no more be a wife to him than he intended to be a husband to her.
Chapter 10
Duncan tossed back the remaining ale in his tankard and stormed through the great hall after his wife. Blood thundered in his head as her words echoed in his ears. For two weeks you have not been able to be a husband to your English wife. Now, I will not allow it.
Damn her English stubbornness. Damn her English pride. Damn her outspoken English tongue.
Duncan climbed the stone stairs two at a time and reached the long hallway just as the door to his chamber slammed. He took long, angry strides until he reached his room, and threw open the thick, oak door with such force it bounced against the stone wall and came back toward him. He kicked it with his booted foot, then kicked it again from behind to close it after he’d entered the room.
She did not look up, nor was there a hesitation in her movements as she crossed the room to the wooden clothes chest against the wall. She flung open the door and pulled out the white muslin gown she wore each evening when she went to bed, then whipped out the light blue dress she’d worn the day he’d brought her here. Next, she walked to her small dressing table and snapped up her brush and the silver netting for her hair. When she had everything collected, she stormed toward the door, without even looking at him.
Duncan blocked her path as she reached to open the door. “You will na even think of leaving this chamber, wife.” His voice came out as a harsh growl but he didn’t care.
“I will do more than think about leaving, husband,” she leveled back at him. “I intend to stay in the empty chamber near the chapel. And you will not stop me.”
“Oh, I will stop you, Kate. And you will na be feeling so pleased with yourself when I do.”
Duncan anchored his fists on his hips and glared down at her, giving her a most ferocious look. By the saints, she was a challenge. He had never met anyone more pigheaded in his life. Where did she think she was going? What on earth made her think he would allow it?
He filled his lungs with hot, burning air. She glared back at him, the anger in her eyes mounting. “Step back, Kate,” he warned.
She did not flinch, but pu
rsed her lips tighter, fisted her hands around the wadded clothing in her arms and took an equally harsh breath. The flare of her upturned nose was the most appealing thing he’d ever seen.
“I will na let you leave this room, Kate.”
With an angry stomp of her foot, she stormed back across the room and threw the clothing to the bed. The brush bounced once, then landed on the tapestry covering the floor with a soft thud. She kicked it in anger. “Why?” She turned on her heels and glared at him. “Why should I stay? You don’t want me here.”
She paced the floor beside the bed with her hands fisted at her sides and her back as straight as a lancer’s spear. “Do you think I don’t know that you come here every night and watch me while I sleep?” She pointed to the chair beside the bed. “What are you thinking, laird? How much you wish someone else was lying in your bed?”
She paced the floor again, not bothering to look at him. “Do you think I don’t know how demoralizing it is for you to take an Englishwoman as your wife? How it eats away at you and your Scottish pride? I remember the first night you stayed with me. I prayed it would not be impossible for you to…” She breathed a sigh that quivered when she released it. “In the morning when I awoke, you were gone. Until tonight, you haven’t even touched me.” She spun around to face him. “Am I that repulsive to hold, Duncan?”
The hurt Duncan saw in her eyes twisted his heart inside his chest. He thought she’d been asleep and had not known he’d sat with her each night. “You do na understand, Kate. It’s na that—”
“It doesn’t matter, Duncan. You no longer have to feel any guilt about tainting the next Ferguson heir with English blood. We will share no bed between us.”
“Aye, we will, Kate. You are my wife and—”
“No. I am not your wife. Our marriage has not been consummated.”
Duncan looked at the pale coloring of her face and felt the air leave his body. She reached out to steady herself, and he noticed that her hand trembled as she grasped onto the bedpost.
